


From Russia, With Love

by Tarimanveri (Monksandbones)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Airplanes, Episode: s09e19 Crusade, F/M, Hand Jobs, Season/Series 09, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monksandbones/pseuds/Tarimanveri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron and Sam fly to Russia to give the Russians some lessons on how to work their new ship. Unhelpfully, Woolsey comes too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Russia, With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardbeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/gifts).



> Written for lizardbeth_j in the 2007 Stargate Rarepairings ficathon, for a prompt that has been lost to the mists of time, but involved Sam/Cameron, at any rate.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://sg-rarepairings.livejournal.com/13135.html), later archived [here](http://tarimanveri-fic.livejournal.com/5713.html).

Six and a half hours into the flight back from Russia, Sam snaps her laptop shut and slides out of the seat she’s been hunched in ever since takeoff. Cameron’s been alternately dozing and fidgeting with his game boy on the bench across from her table, but the angry click got his attention. He looks up in time to catch the way she winces as she straightens.

“Sore?” Cameron asks.

She stops her hand in the motion of raising it to the back of her neck and lets it fall back to her side. “A little,” she says, closing her eyes and stretching her neck with a grimace and roll of her shoulders. She’s holding herself too stiffly. Cameron can read her well enough these days to know that this time her “a little” really means “a lot.”

“Come on over here,” Cameron says, pitched low enough for the buzz of the engines to cover his words. Cameron hasn’t seen Woolsey look up from his paperwork yet, but he’s there, at the other end of the cabin, making the whole jaunt just that special bit more fraught, because really, they have nothing better to do right now than humor the IOA and teach the Russians how to use their new spaceship. Nothing at all. It’s been a long thirty-six hours. Cameron pats the bench next to him. “Sit and I’ll give you a backrub.”

“Okay,” says Sam. As she sits, she shoots an annoyed glare at Woolsey’s back, but Woolsey’s still hard at work and oblivious. Of course, he probably got taken to a nice hotel somewhere while Sam talked the Russian technicians through troubleshooting procedures for their new hyperdrive engines and he waited in case they wanted to ask him about flying their new X-302s. Or rather, she tried to talk to the Russian technicians. Through a Russian military translator, because Jackson somehow weaseled his way out of coming along, and Woolsey certainly didn’t stick around to help.

It’s hot in the cabin. Sam is flushed, and the back of her neck is damp with sweat. Her hair is tousled, and her bangs are standing up in angry spikes. He can smell her, warm and sharp under the fragrance of her shampoo, as he leans in to dig his thumbs into the knots at the base of her neck. She sighs and drops her head forward as he smoothes them out.

It’s quite possibly the hottest thing Cameron’s ever heard. A gap between her collar and the tips of her hair presents itself, and God, Cameron wants to kiss it right there.

She twists around to look at him. “What?” she asks, and he realizes he must have stopped rubbing.

He gets his hands back to work and she drops her head again. “You smell good,” he says.

She lets her head sink even further and says, “No, I don’t.”

“You smell like you,” Cameron says. Her warmth is seeping through her BDUs, and she’s pliant under his hands, and damned if she isn’t getting him hard just like that.

Woolsey clears his throat. Cameron stills his hands. Better to stop now and think about the IOA before he does something he’ll regret later.

“There,” he says, giving Sam one last pat between her shoulder blades. “Better?”

She twitches, experimentally. “I think so.” She stretches. “Fucking Russia,” she adds, scowling. Cameron would never tell her this, because she’d probably kill him and hide his body somewhere no one would ever think to look for it, but she’s kind of cute when she’s pissed off. She gets this rumpled, ruffled look – at the moment, the hair just adds to it – and opens her mouth just so… and damn, that’s not helping his hard-on at all.

“I can’t believe they sent me all this way just to…” she trails off, because Cameron’s staring at her. He doesn’t seem to be able to help it, and he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. “What?” She wrinkles her nose at him and looks around.

“Fuck,” says Cameron.

“Oh,” says Sam.

She gets up and crosses the cabin to the bathroom. And before he knows it, she’s back with a wad of toilet paper and has his pants open and is jerking him off. Expertly, not like he’d expect anything else, from her. It almost doesn’t matter, though, because seeing her hand – there – is enough, and he’s coming in record time before he can stop staring at her fingers grasping him and meet her eyes.

It takes him a few minutes to regain any kind of brain function. Sam’s back again from the bathroom by the time he can gather his wits and choke out “what the…” as she sits back down next to him.

“I don’t…” she begins. “I just…” There’s an edge of not-under-control to her voice and her eyes are wild. “It’s been a really long day, okay?” she finally snaps.

“Hey,” Cameron says, reaching for her. “Hey. It’s okay.”

He’s hugged her exactly once before. That was the time he thought she was dead. Then he thought they were all going to die, so there hadn’t been much time to embrace the moment.

It’s much better this time. Some of that steel she has going in her spine softens and she melts against him a little. Just enough. He squeezes. She clings. If he hadn’t just…

Right behind Cameron, Woolsey clears his throat pointedly.

Sam’s out of his arms and five feet away before Cameron can even register what’s going on. When he turns around, Woolsey’s glaring down at him. Cameron smirks lazily back up at him. He feels good, and he figures Sam would have noticed if Woolsey had been there before. So he takes a moment to imagine pulling Sam into his lap and kissing her like he’s wanted to ever since they were at the academy together, because whatever Woolsey thinks he has on them, he’s missed the real action, and for that he almost deserves a consolation prize.

“Something I can help you with, sir?” Cameron asks, stretching out his legs and leaning back.

Woolsey tut-tuts disapprovingly. “I won’t ask, but don’t make it a habit,” he says.

“No, sir,” Cameron says, and tosses off a little salute.

“Sorry, sir,” Sam adds. “It won’t happen again.” There’s a glitter in her eye and a quirk at the corner of her mouth that tells Cameron that she’s realized what’s going on and is having a hard time keeping a straight face. If Woolsey’s quick enough on the uptake to catch on, he doesn’t show it. Sam muffles a giggle in her sleeve as he swings the washroom door shut.

Cameron has to give the man credit for lightening the mood.

Sam yawns. That’s cute too, to Cameron’s mind, and the bangs-mohawk she's sporting makes it even better.

“I’ve got to get some sleep, Cam,” she says, and yawns again. “Wake me up before we land, mmkay?”

As tempting as sleep sounds – Cameron yawns in response – they’ve got some unfinished business. “Wait,” he says. “You didn’t…”

Her face and voice pick up just a trace of the pissed-off again. “We can talk about it when we get back,” she says, shortly. “Right now I’m going to bed.” Then she looks over her shoulder at the still-locked bathroom door, snakes her hand around the back of his neck, kisses him, and disappears out the rear door of the main cabin.

Cameron’s not sure what she’s thinking, but whatever it is, he’s on board with it. He stretches out on the bench with his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. From Russia with love, he thinks as he drifts off. Sweet.


End file.
